


Needle & Thread

by 5 Reinhardts in a Row (Sir_Nemo)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Nemo/pseuds/5%20Reinhardts%20in%20a%20Row
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Symmetra and McCree share an infirmary, and Symmetra learns McCree knows how to sew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needle & Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a sort of AUish situation where Symmetra has also joined Overwatch. I wasn't sure what to call her (name or nickname), I decided on Symmetra, because I figured she probably hadn't gotten that close to the folk at this point to warrant first-name basis.
> 
> I have this very persistent headcanon that McCree knows how to sew, so this is about that I guess then. And friendships.

Symmetra opened her eyes, and stared at the bright light blaring from the lamp in the ceiling. It was yellow, not blue like hers. 

Her head was feeling... light. And her left side hurt. She blinked a few times, collecting her thoughts.

Overwatch had been on a mission, just a few of them, because it was supposed to be a simple pick-up. Before Talon showed up, that was. She remembered Soldier 76 yelling, trying to get them to group up against the sudden influx of enemies. She had shot down one of them, her turrets managing to slow some of them down, and then. Then someone had shot her. She remembered staggering back, only to find that there was no ground under her feet anymore. 

She sat up. It was the infirmary in Overwatch's headquarters. She had seen it briefly when she had been toured around the base. It was a small room, with few beds for patients, and a row of cupboards along one wall where Mercy kept her equipment and medicine.

A whiff of smoke caught her nose, a smell that didn't belong in this clean and sterile place. Only then she realized that she was not alone. A figure was leaning out of the open window, a curl of smoke unfolding from its mouth towards the free skies outside. From the worn poncho draped around his shoulder on top of a hospital gown and the smoke, Symmetra realized it was McCree smoking one of those awful cigars of his.

Symmetra shifted a bit on her bed and the rustle of her bedsheets made McCree turn around quickly, the hand holding the cigar disappearing behind his back as he did so. He relaxed noticeably when he saw Symmetra.

”Oh, you're up,” he said. ”Thought it was Angela for a sec. She doesn't like me smoking in her infirmary, so I have to be a bit sneaky about it.”

Symmetra made no reply. McCree turned back towards the window. He put his cigar out on the windowsill and let it drop to the ground below.

”You had quite a tumble back there, scared us for a bit, you doing alright?”

”I'm good,” Symmetra said, which earned her a smile from McCree.

”That's Angela for you, if she can't fix you, no one can.”

”I didn't see what happened you.”

”Oh nothing too bad. Kinda got stabbed. Wasn't my first time. I'll live.”

Symmetra almost asked what being kind of stabbed entailed, but decided against it. She turned to look at her hands on her lap. She wasn't wearing her own clothes, it was a hospital gown, the same kind McCree was wearing under his poncho. The fabric was off-white, and while not exactly uncomfortable, these weren't her clothes.

McCree must have noticed her examining the gown as he said:

”Your clothes are on the table next to your bed. Angela had them washed.”

Indeed, on the small side table were her clothes, folded into a neat stack. Symmetra took them to her lap. They were clean, just as McCree had said they would be, but as she looked them over, she noticed a tear running down the side of her dress, where she had been shot. It wasn't very big, but definitely noticeable.

”Oh,” was all she said.

”Something wrong?”

”There's a hole in my dress.”

”Let me see.”

Mutely Symmetra handed the dress over. McCree looked at the hole, then folded the dress over his arm, and started for the cupboards.

”I'm pretty sure Angela keeps sewing stuff here somewhere,” McCree said, though more to himself than Symmetra, rummaging through the cupboards. Finally he produced a small box, which turned out to contain spools of thread of several colors and needles. McCree picked a needle, and then sat on the table, his feet tangling over the edge, as he went through the box looking for thread that matched the dress' color.

”You sew?” Symmetra asked. 

”Yeah, I sew. You can laugh all you want. It's practical. You can't just keep on buying new clothes every time you get a little bullet hole in them. That's just wasteful.”

”I wasn't laughing.”

McCree flashed her a grin, the needle between his teeth and set out to work. Symmetra watched him in silence. With his mechanical hand he kept the fabric together while his right hand worked the needle. He was quick, it looked like he had gotten a lot of practice. Well, if this hadn't been his first time being stabbed, perhaps that explained the proficiency in his needlework.

”Good as new,” he said after a while, getting up and handing the dress back to Symmetra. She examined the handiwork; the stitches were even and held tight, almost like there hadn't been a hole at all.

”Thank you,” she said.

”Don't mention it,” he answered, putting the sewing equipment away. He had only just managed to close the cupboard when an angry voice came from the doorway:

”Jesse McCree, have I given you the permission to be out of bed?”

McCree jumped a bit, took few steps backwards in defense, being suddenly faced with angry-looking Mercy approaching him.

”But Angela...” he began, as Mercy took him by the elbow and firmly escorted him back into his bed.

”No buts, doctor's orders,” she said. She then turned to give Symmetra a smile, before closing the curtain between hers and McCree's beds.

Symmetra turned to gaze out of the window, as Mercy looked over McCree's wounds, at least based on very dramatic groans coming from the other side of the curtain with occasional remark from Mercy in between such as ”Stop being a baby.” and ”I will strap you down on this bed if you don't stay put.” and ”Have you been smoking? What have I told you about smoking in here?”.

When Mercy left McCree and came up to Symmetra, her demeanor was back to pleasant smiles and gentle voice as she explained:

”I will have to run a check-up on you, but I think you don't have to stay here another night.”

”Unfaaaair,” came a voice from McCree's bed.

”You would have gotten out earlier, if you haven't been wandering around when you shouldn't have,” Mercy snapped back, and then another smile at Symmetra.

Symmetra did get back to her room that evening, which she was thankful for, she was tired, and the world was easier to keep at bay at her own room.

She didn't see McCree around the base for a few days after the fact. Mercy probably had him under tight lock and key. When she finally caught a sight of him, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to go talk to him; they hadn't really talked before their brief stay at the infirmary together, and he looked like he was busy. 

McCree did notice she was wearing the same dress he had fixed, and when he did, he stopped for a bit, offered Symmetra a grin and finger guns. She smiled back.


End file.
